Ardere
by Merryelf
Summary: Ardere (v.) (Latin): to burn.


_Ardere_

Blaise lounged in an old, worn-out armchair and gazed idly into the roaring fire. The common room was empty, as it usually was during supper. Blaise liked to eat his supper early, thereby avoiding the crowds in the Great Hall. The Slytherin common room would empty of its inhabitants by the time he returned (and if some were still lingering he would hurry them on their way), and Blaise took this opportunity to feed the meager flames in the fireplace and get a hearty blaze going. Slytherins, as a whole, preferred a chilly climate- so the fireplace was usually sorely neglected. Blaise, however, had a passion for heat. He was naturally drawn to it, always seeking out the warmest parts of any place he happened to occupy. He loved sitting close to a blazing fire, staring into its depths for stimulation. He supposed he was simply accustomed to the heat more than his repressed British classmates. Blaise had been raised on the fiery plains of Italy; and even after 5 years the cold, dreary weather of Scotland was alien to him. But Blaise's hunger for heat did not come simply from his homeland, much of it came from the inside- as if his very soul lusted for fire.

As a child, his mother had constantly worried that he would burn himself by reaching into fires and ovens. His hands, as a toddler, had been covered in burn marks. Blaise knew better now, of course. He knew to let the flames wash over him instead of greedily reaching out for them. This did not stop him from sitting as close as possible to a fire, any fire, that he sat near. He remembered a remark of his father's, from some family gathering or another when everyone was trying to have the wittiest remark of the evening, calling him Icarus reborn. Blaise smiled bemusedly at the reference. He was not nearly as dim as that foolish Cretan. He knew better than to fly with wax wings.

Blaise shifted slightly in his armchair, one hand reaching up to carelessly twirl one of his dark chocolate curls in his fingers. He needed, he decided, to spend more time outside. Not that the weather in this part of the world was likely to cooperate, but Blaise was determined to take advantage of any sunny days that came along. His skin was, at the moment, hideously pale and he well knew it. He could only imagine how worried and disapproving his mother and aunts would be to see him. Their whole family was always very tan- their natural inclination towards being in the sun giving their skin a brownish tint. No one in his family had ever suffered a sunburn. Blaise had not even heard of such things before he came to Hogwarts, and even then he had to see it to believe it. It made him slightly smug- as if the very sun favored his family over others.

Blaise turned his thoughts from his family with some effort, and focused again on his classmates. They were a dreadfully dreary bunch weren't they? Always going on about some melodrama or another and acting as if the very world was against them. Blaise smirked inwardly. All the inhabitants of this little community acted so high and noble, and yet at the same time they were frightened of anything out of the ordinary. These fools saw fire as the enemy, and would run away from any mention of passion. They liked to stay safely frozen in society, always fearful of the fire that would thaw them out and leave them exposed. At first Blaise had found such extreme inhibition alarming, but now it simply amused him. His classmates- and even his professors, who were supposed to be wise enough to know better- constantly felt the need to occupy and entrap themselves with self-created drama. Blaise felt that this to be a rather obvious waste of time and energy. Why use all that passion on some fictional melodrama when it could be put to better use? But Blaise had long ago discarded the attempt to better understand his classmates, he simply didn't care enough to put in any effort. His fire was suited to more important purposes.

Blaise liked to think of himself as a panther: dark, mysterious, noble, and deadly. Ever patient, he watched those around him with a veiled intensity that was too well-hidden to be noticed. He knew every intricate detail of the hierarchies present both in the school and in the social circles he frequented. He could, if needed, act at any moment- striking out to protect himself and his family. His mother and father stayed at the villa in Italy, trusting him to maintain the family's social status among the British wizarding aristocracy. And Blaise made sure he was worthy of that trust, always keeping the Zabini name active in even the highest circles while maintaining a low profile so as to detract unwanted attentions. Blaise was no fool, and he certainly was not blind. He could see the trap his housemates and their families had fallen into. So Blaise moved very carefully, his cat-like balance serving him well as he walked the tightrope of neutrality. Thus far he had been successful, but Blaise had the panther's instincts as well. The time for inaction was ending. Soon, Blaise would have to make his move. Soon he would have to put into play all of his knowledge, his cunning, and his charm. Only once his task was complete, and his duty fulfilled, could Blaise return to his home, his family, and to his passionate lifestyle. He could almost feel the familiar heat on his face as he smiled. Soon, but not quite yet.

Noises in the corridor; his housemates had begun to return from their meal. Slowly and deliberately, Blaise rose from the armchair and returned it to its natural location. He glanced at the fire; it had begun to wane slightly. Good. No need for anyone to notice anything amiss. The fire provided him with ample shadows to choose from, and Blaise retired to his favorite alcove in a corner. Blaise could hardly contain a predatory smile as he settled in for an evening of careful observation. Soon, he knew, his moment would arrive. These people would finally see the fire contained within Blaise Zabini. And he would burn them.


End file.
